Druids, Bastards And Broken Things
by Diana Prallon
Summary: The worst part wasn't the questions – or the lies. It was the number of truths that he had wanted to blurt out but he couldn't. [Coda do 508]


**Druids, Bastards And Broken Things**

"I own my life to that boy and I don't even know who he was or where he came from. We must me sure that he has a decent funeral."

"I'll do it, if you give me some free time."

It would be good for him to be able to do at least this for Daegal. It all had been too quick, and he blamed himself for not being able to save him. He had lied, yes, but Merlin didn't blame him. Sometimes, it was hard being alone. The truth was that even with all the hardships in his life, he had never had to worry about how he would find himself the next meal – just if he'd be alive to eat it (and if he wasn't, it couldn't really matter if there was food or not). Even almost a decade later, he could still remember the terrible hunger that he had faced when Camelot was under a curse from Arthur killing the Unicorn. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to live it every day.

A part of him had been angry and pained, but another could sympathize with the boy's needs. He was clearly talented in lying, for he had managed to keep Merlin almost blind to the danger until they were there. It wasn't easy, pretending to be things you weren't – he knew it too well.

Arthur's face was amused, and Merlin had wanted to scream at him.

"Then you can visit the girl again", he said.

"What?"

"The _girl_."

Gwen had been clever when she said he was having an affair – that he had a igirl/i that he cared about. She had always been a romantic; it was only natural that it would stick even after she decided to turn against Arthur.

The problem was that it wasn't really a lie – he had left to see a girl, yes. She hadn't even existed, but her brother's eyes and the tone of his voice were enough to lure him in. He couldn't resist to underdogs, and Daegal had been one of them.

"I don't have one."

The worst part wasn't the questions – or the lies. It was the number of truths that he had wanted to blurt out but he couldn't. There were too many things being pulled inside his chest, so many stories he could tell for that simple line.

_"She was the first person I ever fell for. She was beautiful, and shy, and really sensitive. She couldn't believe someone cared about her, because her kind had been persecuted for so long… She was a druid, you know? Beautiful – all dark hair and brown eyes. Her name was Freya. She liked strawberries, and I only kissed her once. I dreamed of us having a house near a lake, for she loved them, but there was too much I didn't know. You killed her – and I was left alone to take her body away and give her a funeral. She burned, and part of me burned with her. I saw her once after that – and she gave me the answer to defeating the immortal army. She guards the lake that leads to Avalon. I miss her every day."_

"That's not what Guinevere tells me", his voice was easy and teasing.

So many memories that was hard to breath, his body seemed root in the floor. Still, he forced himself to keep moving, to look around and to do his job. He watched the changes in Gwen's face, the woman that had once been their friend, and he took a deep breath, keeping in his head the words he wanted to speak out loud.

"_She was nice, you know? It didn't start right away, it took a good while. We got to know each other first, and she would always smile… That smile. She could melt snow with it. It's really funny to think that I thought her most of her chores, since you are always telling me how I am a terrible servant. She was much worse than me, because she would get nervous – she really respected you, you know? And feared a bit, I suppose, and she was right to, because you sent her to die without thinking twice. Neither of you ever noticed that we were together, even if both of us were around you all day – nothing has really changed, you know? You married a serving girl, but you can't see servants. You say you won't persecute druids, but you trap them into not being able to live around here. She knew all this, while I was busy holding my faith in what you can become and didn't even see her go."_

"So tell us about her, Merlin"

And yet, he had made his peace with all those happenings. He loved and lost and grieved, and moved on. But some of the wounds were still too raw – or just too deep.

"_Him_" Merlin wanted to say. "_Him. He didn't deserve what he got. He had a hard life. He was brave and beautiful, and I was only allowed him to love him for one day before he was taken from me, to save you. This is what always happens. In the end, your life is bought with theirs. And, once again, I had to see a bow taking the life of a man that truly knew me for who I was, that truly accepted me, that had taken care of me and reminded me of the good in people even when they don't believe in them to save your life. His name was Daegal, and he should have betrayed me, but he didn't – which is more than we can say about your queen. He was smart and talented; he would have made an amazing physician. I wanted Gaius to teach him – I wanted to share it all with him, because I truly believed that he deserved better. Just as Will once thought I deserved more than to run around trying to please you. I was becoming just like Will, lost in my bitterness, and Daegal was my Merlin – he managed to remind me of who I was. But he, as Will, paid with his life for his faith in me. I couldn't protect him because I was too busy trying to protect you_."

A deep breath was all that he could offer both the king and himself as he tried to control his temper. There was no use saying any of those things, because, honestly, he knew he wouldn't have made anything different. It was hard, and he felt broken inside. All of his dreams had turned to dust, because there was always something, always a greater cause, a greater duty. He would suffer, yes, and it would hurt, and he would miss them and wish it had been different, but Merlin also knew that he wouldn't trade their lives for Arthur, he couldn't do that. Protecting his prince and king was the very reason of his existence, and there was nothing – not even his heart – that could stay in the way of his duty.

Arthur was the center of his life, what he lived for, what they died for – and he wouldn't change it for the world.

(They said he had a soft spot for druids, bastards and broken things, but maybe the truth was that he was the most broken of them all).


End file.
